


I Will Always Watch You

by Natteravn



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brother/Brother Incest, Growing Up Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-23
Updated: 2011-06-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 23:56:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3430292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natteravn/pseuds/Natteravn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon can tell his half brother to do anything, and he will. Always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Always Watch You

**Author's Note:**

> Based entirely on the TV series, and in this, Theon is two years older than Jon and Robb. In my country, this would not be considered underage, but I know that in some countries, it will, which is why I've marked it as a warning.
> 
> This fic was my first in the GoT fandom and dates back to the summer 2011. I didn't have an AO3 account back then, and I didn't consider uploading the fic to AO3 before I went through my LJ last night. I've fixed the mistakes I could find, otherwise, the fic has stayed the same. I don't know if this ship is even still alive, but I hope whoever (re)reads this fic, enjoys the read.
> 
> \---
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Nothing written in my fanfictions is real – I have made absolutely everything up. I do not own any of these characters, they belong exclusively to their author. I make no profit from my writing, and I do not mean to offend or harass anyone with my works.

“Play with me.”

The four year old Jon Snow looks up at his half brother, eyes pleading. Robb Stark wants to, wants to do it so badly, but he knows that for some reason, his mother does not approve. He is not really sure why – there is just something about the looks she gives him when he is being kind to his younger brother. There is something about the looks she gives Jon when she thinks that nobody is watching her.

He asked her once, why she does not like that they play together, but he never really got a straight answer. It makes his four year old mind spin – they are brothers, right? And all the other brothers he knows play with each other, whether they are the children of the cook or the smith. They chase each other, play hide and seek, and spy on people. They act like children because that is what they are.

He and Jon should be like that, too, Robb thinks. He cannot think of a reason why they should not.

So when Jon Snow wants to play, Robb plays, no matter what his mother says. Because Jon is his family, his brother, and the closest thing he has to a friend. And he hates seeing the younger boy hurt and alone.

 

“Help me.”

The words come out as a hoarse scream, and it takes Robb only a second to realise why. That new boy has his hands around his brother’s throat again. He is a couple of years older, or something like that, and he is constantly being mean. Not to Robb himself, and not to his parents or his sisters, but to Jon, he is being horrible. This discrimination makes Robb feel weird and uncomfortable, although he cannot put his finger on why.

And there is that constant use of the word that Robb is not allowed to use, grins and flashes of teeth that are not meant friendly, and then there are those games that tend to get a little too physical, after which Jon always ends up with a bruised knee or a blue eye.

The boy is older than both of them, and when Robb sees the way he acts towards his younger brother, it makes his stomach twist and curl. He has never been anything but rude to Jon, but Robb does not get what it is that his brother has done. Just from the second the new boy arrived, he was being hateful and horrible to Jon.

But even though his brother is screaming at him, and Robb can see that he needs help, he does not react immediately. The new boy is older. He is stronger. He is violent, and he is not afraid of going after younger boys. And Robb himself is younger, too. He does not have the strength nor the courage to stand up against the new boy.

At least not until he locks his eyes with Jon’s, and he sees the fear and desperation in those deep, dark eyes. Eyes that have not done anything but to look at him with love and affection. Eyes that are begging for help, and Robb knows what he has to do. It is his duty as an older brother to protect his younger one, so he swallows his own fear and goes after the older boy.

One thing Robb gets right; the grip around Jon loosens and Jon is free, but as soon as the newcomer has released him, he goes for Robb. They end up in what feels like an endless struggle, and the other boy definitely has the upper hand, until Lady Stark becomes aware of the noise they are making and comes dashing towards them.

She pulls Robb out of the other boy’s grip, hugs him tight to her chest and strokes his hair. Robb tries to pull away, tries to tell her that he is not hurt – he is a big boy so he does not get hurt – and that Jon has got a terrible mark on his neck and _he_ is the one who needs to be looked after. Lady Stark does not notice, or maybe she does not care, because she keeps petting his hair and whispers ‘hush’ in his ear.

Robb looks at Jon, knowing that his brother is hurt, trying his best to say ‘I’m sorry’ with just his eyes. Jon walks away then, heading for the main building and his room. Robb gives the new boy a warning look, daring him to follow his brother. The other one scowls at him, but at least he sets off in the opposite direction.

That night, Robb creeps into his brother’s chambers. They are not allowed to spend time together after they have gone to bed, but Robb thinks they are big boys now, six years old and everything, so it is about time they got to make some decisions themselves. So he sneaks through the door after everyone has fallen asleep, and crawls up in Jon’s bed and under his blankets. He does not stir, not even when Robb puts a hand on his shoulder, but it does not matter. He is safe now that his big brother is with him.

It is the first night out of many that Robb spends in his brother’s bed.

 

“Spar with me.”

Robb does not want to. Jon is younger – not by much, but he is still younger – and older brothers are supposed to take care of their younger siblings. Even if the younger sibling is only a couple of months younger and a bastard.

He is not allowed to use that word, though. He still hears his mother use it all the time, and the new boy – Robb still thinks of him as the new boy –, whose name is Theon and correct title is ‘ward’, uses it when he wants to pick on Jon.

Robb used it once, a couple of months earlier. They were playing, all three of them, like their parents had told them that they should. Theon, like the little snake he is, had dared him to call Jon by what he said was the right name, ‘bastard’. Robb had not wanted to, but the way Theon had murmured the dare in his ear had made it seem so harmless. Theon is older, more experienced, and that made it kind of exciting. And his mother used the word so often, it could not be that bad, could it?

He had chosen the worst moment possible. Lord Stark had walked past them then, just as Robb had shouted ‘Come get me, you bastard!’. Then he had turned around and caught his father’s eye, and he had known immediately that what he had just done was not right. He had not understood why and what exactly had been so wrong about it, but the way his father had looked at him, had told him that he had done something he was not allowed to do.

His father had taken him aside, and crouched down before him so he could look his oldest child in the eye. Brothers should not call each other by such names, he had said, firmly, but not unkindly. Robb had asked quietly why his mother and the ward could and he could not, and his father had been silent for a long time before he had replied. ‘Your mother is not related to Jon’, he had murmured, like that explained it all. ‘But you are, and you are going to treat him like an equal. After all, that is what you are. Even if you don’t have the same name.’

That day, Robb had memorised those words and told himself to keep them in his heart for the rest of his life.

After seeing what the name did to his brother, Robb did not want to use it either. The look on his face, the hurt in his eyes, his full lips turning slightly downwards as he tried not to show that he cared. But Robb knew that he cared. Jon would always care.

Which is why he does not want to do as Jon tells him to when he says “spar with me”. They are only ten, and playing with wooden swords without pointy ends, but it still does not feel right. He is the big brother who is supposed to protect his younger one. Protecting does not include fighting, even if it is just for fun.

He shakes his head, but the other ten year old steps forward. “Spar with me,” he urges. “I am not afraid.”

His brother is growing tougher, no doubt.

So he does. He raises his sword and hits Jon’s shoulder, making the other boy whimper. He stops for a second, but then sees the look on Jon’s face that tells him not to stop. So he raises his sword again, and this time, Jon is prepared and blocks perfectly. Robb is so taken aback that he is the first to stumble and fall to the ground. Jon hovers over him, grins at him, then he offers Robb his hand.

Robb grins back, because he knows that his little brother is capable of defending himself. But in his heart, he knows that he will not stop watching his back. After all, Jon is still his younger brother.

And he still sneaks into his room at night, just to make sure that he is alright.

 

“Hold me.”

Theon has been harassing Jon again. How he is not tough enough, good enough, experienced enough. ‘Never running after girls’ he laughs, and Robb knows how much that hurts. Theon had teased Robb about it once, one moment where he had had a bit too much to drink at a feast, and he thought he was being funny.

Robb had told him to leave it. For some reason, Theon actually has not mentioned it since, something that strikes Robb as weird, because Theon will not leave Jon alone when Jon asks for it. He is constantly picking on him, constantly looking down on him, making fun of what he does and says and how he acts.

Jon tells him this at night, when Robb has snuck into his room again. They are twelve, it will soon start to become a bit childish to share a room, really. But Jon does not mind having him there, and Robb has not got the heart to turn him down. And Jon tells him about Theon, that he is still being mean even though he is fourteen and almost a grown-up.

Robb asks if Jon wants him to do something about it, but Jon shakes his head; he is a big boy, too. He can stand up against Theon on his own, he does not need protection anymore. Robb nods, because when Jon says something, he obliges.

They sit in front of the fireplace in silence for an hour. The fur is soft and warm, and it makes Robb want to lie down, snuggle into it and sleep. And then, when he has almost fallen asleep on that fur in front of the fire, Jon whispers so quietly that Ghost and Grey Wind do not even stir, ‘hold me’.

Robb wonders what gave him that idea, but then he remembers Bran falling off the horse earlier that day. Lady Stark had held him and stroked his hair, murmuring words of love and comfort into his ear. The same as she had done that day Theon had been rude to Jon and she had comforted Robb instead.

And Robb realises that while he, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon have always had their hair stroked, cheeks caressed and gotten comforting and encouraging words from their mother and father, Jon has never been touched like that by anyone. Not once has Lady Stark offered him a thought, and never has their father had the courage to support or comfort his bastard child.

While the Stark children have learned what a mother’s and a father’s love means, Snow does not have a clue what it feels like to be held and comforted when you are sick, hurt or when someone has been rude to you.

So Robb sits up, pulls his little brother against his chest, and rests his hand against his cheek. Jon leans into the touch, and a quiet sob escapes his lips. He does not cry – it is just a desperate sound that forces itself out. He rests his head on Robb’s shoulder and Robb lies back down on the fur with Jon on top of him. They fall asleep like that, in front of the fire, wrapped around each other, Jon with a sad, but content smile on his lips.

 

“Kiss me.”

In the warm, dull light of the fire, the words seem so sweet and innocent. Yet, Robb cannot help but feel that there is something dangerous about them, something forbidden, something terribly wrong. But they come from his brother, from his Jon, and that makes everything alright.

They are fourteen now, close to fifteen, and the world is starting to change in a weird way. Theon does not hang out with them so much anymore. Not that he did that in the first place, but now he is not even interested. He has not been hateful or cruel to Jon for many months, and he is always off doing stuff with people Jon and Robb do not know. People like young, pretty girls, not that either of them has a concrete idea of what that means just yet.

They have been spying on Theon, just for fun, to see what he is up to now that he does not mock around with them anymore. There is one girl in particular whose company he seems to enjoy, Ros. She has red hair and red lips, and sometimes Theon seems to run out of clever replies to her sharp tongue. It makes both the young boys giggle, because that does not happen to Theon very often.

A couple of days ago, Theon and Ros had done something neither Jon nor Robb had ever witnessed before – they had kissed. Ros had whispered ‘kiss me’ in Theon’s ear, her voice husky and so low that the two young boys had barely been able to catch the words.

They do not really know what it means, but Robb knows that it is something bad. When something feels warm, nice and delicious like that, it often is. The way the sight had made his body tingle is proof enough. It is wrong. Dangerous. Forbidden.

“Kiss me,” Jon repeats. He uses the same voice as Ros had, and Robb cannot bring himself to turn his brother down. He never has, and he never will, of that he is certain. Jon means the world to him, and as a big brother, it is his job and duty to make sure that Jon is always safe and comfortable. Even if that includes doing things he knows he should not.

There, in Jon’s room, only lit up by the fireplace, where they are only wearing their tunics and breeches and leaning against each other on the soft, warm fur, Robb presses his lips against Jon’s. It is a soft, barely there kiss, just two pairs of lips touching. They do not move, they do not push and they do not open their mouths, they just sit there, feeling the warmth of the other.

When he pulls away, Robb decides that this is one of those nights where they should sleep in separate rooms for once. He avoids Jon’s eyes as he gets up and closes the door behind him, knowing that he will not be able to leave if he sees the look on his brother’s face.

 

“Touch me.”

The words only come out as a whisper against Robb’s mouth. They know how to use their lips now; their hands are the problem. Robb is not sure where he should put them – in his lap, on Jon’s hips or maybe tangle them in his hair, like he has seen one of the maids do to a stable boy. Eventually they end up on Jon’s hips, and Jon sighs and kisses him harder.

It is so wrong, and yet it feels so deliciously _right_.

When he feels his brother’s hands tangle in his own thick curls, he knows that this is the feeling of something deep and strong, though what it is exactly, he cannot tell. It is so overwhelming that he withdraws his hands without thinking about it.

“Touch me,” Jon whispers against his lips again. It is harsh and urgent, and not to be mistaken.

“Jon, we cannot–”

“Robb, please,” Jon begs, before he breaks the kiss and stares into Robb’s eyes with that deep look of his. His hands stay in Robb’s hair, and he is still so close that Robb can feel every breath he takes.

“Touch me,” he whispers for the third time, this time so hurt and vulnerable that Robb cannot resist. It is his little brother after all, who by the way is not so little anymore, and he cannot say no. He is not allowed to say no. So he places his hands back on Jon’s hips, runs his calloused thumbs roughly over his hipbones, then tightens his hold to bring him closer.

His locks his lips with Jon’s again, and Jon hums happily against his mouth. He wriggles until he is seated comfortably in Robb’s lap, straddling his older brother, and Robb’s grip tightens as Jon pulls his hair harder. There is heat pooling in Robb’s gut, a strange feeling of need and something very close to satisfaction that he has to fulfill. If this is what it feels like for Theon when he goes to play with Ros, Robb understands why he got sick of him and his brother. The feeling is overwhelming and breathtaking. It is almost too much for his seventeen year old body to handle.

He can feel Jon respond, too, and he bucks up against him, the sensation so utterly delicious that it is a wonder that he does not come right then and there.

Why he has not had the courage to do this earlier is unknown to him, and he regrets it deeply. He kisses Jon even harder, crushing their mouths together, forcing his tongue into Jon’s mouth. Jon gladly accepts it, sucks on it before he lets Robb explore his mouth. The action sends sparks through his body and makes him laugh in surprise, and he has to break the kiss to breathe.

Jon laughs with him, throws his head back, in which he bares his neck and gives Robb a perfect access which he cannot resist. He presses his lips against his brother’s Adam’s apple, making Jon’s laugh turn into a heated moan. Against his brother’s throat Robb grins to himself: Theon might pull sounds like that from the whores a couple of buildings over, but no one but him can pull sounds like that from Jon Snow.

When the reality of what they are doing hits him, it is already too late. He is way too close to stop and Jon’s grip around his curls is too strong.

“Jon, we have to–” he tries, and Jon nods, but does not say a word. Instead he moans desperately and clings to his older brother in a way that tells Robb that it is a waste of time to try to get any sense out of him. He winds his arms around Jon waist, and brings them with that as close as they can physically get without taking their clothes off.

“Let go and come for me, Jon,” he whispers hoarsely. The heat in his voice surprises him, but Jon seems to enjoy it, and that makes everything okay. Almost, at least, he thinks and bucks his hips up against his brother’s.

Unlike him, Jon is completely silent when he comes. He bares that delicious throat of his again, arching his back and squeezing his eyes shut, his mouth opened in a silent gasp. Robb has to press his mouth against Jon’s collar bone in order not to scream and announce his release to the rest of the world, his teeth sinking into the pale flesh.

This moment, he thinks as Jon relaxes in his arms, coming down from the rush of adrenaline and hormones, is only for them and no one else. No one is ever going to have his little brother like he does. He is his, and his only.

He brings his hands to Jon’s cheeks and kisses him softly, tenderly.

 

“Watch me.”

Robb can hear Jon yell, but it is not directed at him. Theon has his sword raised, and he is baring his teeth in that typical evil grin of his. Jon looks furious but controlled, but Robb still cannot help it – he is worried. Theon has always been better than Jon, has always beaten him, and now Jon is going at him of his own free will? It is bound to go wrong, Robb knows it, but there is nothing he can do.

Except to do what Jon tells him to, and watch him.

“You think you can take me, Snow? When you have never taken a man in your whole life? You do not stand a chance.”

“Watch me,” Jon bites out, and Robb has to turn away. He does not want to stand there and watch as his younger brother gets beaten to hell and back by that idiot of a Greyjoy. He can hear the sharp sounds of metal blocking metal, clothes getting torn and fists hitting soft spots of flesh. A yell, a hoarse scream, an evil laugh and another punch from a fist.

Silence.

Robb does not want to, but he knows he has to. He turns, and meets his brother’s deep, dark eyes. His cheeks are flushed red, his knuckles are bleeding and there is a huge split in the left arm of his clothing. But he is standing. He is standing there with his sword lowered, eyes glittering, and a wide grin spreading over his otherwise so serious face.

He did it.

Theon glances up at Robb from where he is bending down on the ground. The defeat is reflected in his eyes, and his hair is hanging in front of his face, wet and dirty. Robb gives him a half smile and a nod. Theon nods back, rises and walks away, leaving the brothers alone.

“You did not watch me,” Jon points out, but he is not angry.

“I do now,” Robb replies and Jon laughs.

“I did it,” he grins.

“You did,” Robb agrees and pulls him into a hug that cannot be described as anything but brotherly.

But that night, Robb gives himself to Jon in Jon’s room, because neither of them are little boys anymore. They are family, friends, brothers and lovers. And as they are reaching climax and Jon’s breathing is getting faster and shallower by every second, Robb whispers in his ear,

“I will always watch you.”

Jon can search the entire world, Robb thinks as his brother bites his neck and his body contracts; he will never find a deeper and truer declaration of love.


End file.
